THE ACCUSED (1949)

Paramount Pictures, 100m 58s

An independent feature produced by Hal B. Wallis, THE ACCUSED was the eleventh film released from Hal Wallis Productions, as well as his fifth film noir in a row. This title is all-out Freudian noir with its lead character in the wrong place at the wrong time. THE ACCUSED also stands as one of the genre's preeminent "woman in peril" permutations, among them DANGER SIGNAL (1945), NOTORIOUS (1946), SORRY WRONG NUMBER (1948), WHIRLPOOL (1949), WOMAN IN HIDING (1950), CAUSE FOR ALARM! (1951) and SUDDEN FEAR (1952). Furthermore, it is one of many film noirs patterned after co-writer/director Billy Wilder's DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944), in which Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) finds himself in uncomfortably close proximity to those investigating the murder he committed. Similarly, Dr. Wilma Tuttle (Loretta Young) of THE ACCUSED must endure firsthand reminders of an investigation closing in on her. The narrative not only revolves around the staple noir theme of mental trauma, but intertwines its psychological angle with physical abuse and physical manifestations from a fragile state of mind.

Set amid the California Coastline, the hallmarks of the noir story are plentiful: low camera angles, an obsession with mirrors, horizontal shadows cast by Venetian blinds, compositions that suggest entrapment, a flashback that reveals our lead protagonist's dire situation, and so on. Above all else, THE ACCUSED calls into question the role of psychology in American society. Is the person who represents the tenets of psychology someone to be respected? Any survey of the genre likely would suggest the answer commonly is "no." In example, consider the heel psychologists that populate CAT PEOPLE (1942), SHOCK (1946) NIGHTMARE ALLEY (1947) and WHIRLPOOL (1950).

Originally from Kansas, Dr. Wilma Tuttle is an uptight Associate Professor, Department of Psychology, at a local university. A complex, textured personality worthy of the viewer's attention, she serves as analyst and is the subject of analysis, posited as both victim of fate and unwitting femme fatale. She is anything but one thing, the byproduct of a post-WWII America still coping with where the woman belongs within a patriarchal system that might not be down for the count, but could be on the ropes. In the opening sequence along California's Pacific coast highway, truck driver Jack Hunter (Mickey Knox) tells Tuttle the last woman he encountered on the road robbed him at gunpoint. Hunter then quickly recognizes why he has happened upon Tuttle:  her choice for a date could have been contemplated better. Especially considering what we eventually learn about exactly why Tuttle was in need of a lift, an uncertain climate for both men and women can be grasped from this segment. It is implied America of the late 1940s has become a dangerous place where nobody may be what they appear to be, where neither gender has a right to feel safe.

A star vehicle for Loretta Young, THE ACCUSED cries out for a gender study reading. Though the film is progressive in certain respects and is mostly in sympathy with Young's character Tuttle, upon inspection Tuttle is defined primarily by the men that surround her. Throughout the proceedings, there is a conflict between Tuttle as elegant, sexual woman and woman of substance, as if the two cannot coexist without social disruption. In the classroom this theme is energized early, when the professor Tuttle's pencil takes on a phallic representation in direct view of Bill Perry (Douglas Dick), her bewitched student who eagerly returns the visual favor. Without a current man in her life or any suggestion of past lovers, Tuttle shows obvious signs of sexual frustration and clearly desires Perry. At the same time she judges Perry to be a brash, self-indulgent young man, though she absolutely admires his intellect. His relentless pursuit of Tuttle batters down her every defense mechanism. When he describes his interest in marine mollusks, he unknowingly compares these seemingly harmless invertebrate animals to Tuttle ("They can really get you."). America may be a place fraught with danger, but both Perry and Tuttle demonstrate they are attracted to danger, even if that fascination in either case is of the unconscious variety.

The male gaze

Perry drives Tuttle to an isolated Malibu cliff some 75' above the shore, where he forces himself on her to the point she repeatedly asks him to stop hurting her arm. Undeterred, Perry is convinced Tuttle in truth is turned on by his brutish behavior. In response to his rape attempt, Tuttle beats Perry into a permanently non-aggressive state. Though Tuttle acts in self-defense, she fears the events of the evening easily could be misinterpreted and bring about career-wrecking scandal. Tuttle is indeed the "cyclothymiac cutie" of Perry's essay, the unassuming woman talked into an impromptu date with him on what will be the last evening of his life. He correctly describes her as a sexually-repressed woman struggling with unfulfilled desires. So accurate is his assessment of Tuttle that his essay, ironically ordered by Tuttle, acts as the catalyst for her potential downfall. There is compelling evidence Perry understood his subject well when Tuttle's psychic trauma attacks her body; at one point she lands in the hospital with pneumonia, at another she collapses into a piece of office furniture. And while enveloped by the bloodlust of ringside fans at a boxing event, her faculties break down completely when she envisions the unwelcome visage of Perry in the ring. It is unsurprising that the truth just has to come tumbling out; all along we sense Tuttle has too much character to live with her concealed crime forever.

Though Tuttle is a respected professor who projects upward mobility, at the same time she is objectified and lives at risk of the men who would like to contain her, as when Warren Ford (Robert Cummings) announces their imminent marriage without bothering to consult her on the subject. Whether she is to be blamed for that fateful night at a precipitous cliff is a difficult question, though in light of the last close-up of Loretta Young, it seems axiomatic the filmmakers stand firmly on her side. That the jury would be sympathetic to Tuttle based upon her crime's circumstances is laudable, particularly with the first-hand knowledge of that terrible seaside night the viewer is granted. Unfortunately, we are left with the impression Tuttle will be set free thanks to her enchanting good looks, which hardly implies the equality of all citizens in the courtroom or any sense of fairness. The other major takeaway is equally troublesome:  the intelligent woman is more capable of deception and thus should be considered the most threatening type of woman. Interestingly, Tuttle's capacity to kill does nothing to discourage the attention of homicide officer Lieutenant Ted Dorgan (Wendell Corey), who finds Tuttle irresistible, even in the courtroom! Her beauty has a borderline hypnotic command over him; again it isn't just Tuttle who is drawn to danger. The implication is disconcerting; the more dangerous Tuttle might be, the more attractive she becomes. Tuttle the professor has no suitable male callers begging for her hand, Tuttle the murderess has options! Is dangerous living really that entrenched in American life? Dorgan seems to understand that possibility best when he sets Ford straight about homicide investigation work:

"You want the illusion that youth means innocence? Today kids kill their parents, their grandparents, children killing children. Sweet sixteen. They murder their lovers."

Susan Duval (Suzanne Dalbert), an immigrant student, is one of the peripheral characters that reflects Dorgan's cynical life philosophy. She very much likes Perry, but he treats her poorly, to the extent she says she could kill him (it is not directly stated, but strongly implied Perry impregnated Duval).

If Tuttle is contextualized in terms of the male gaze, the male characters are united by a fairly consistent train of thought about a woman’s place. Although the narrative is constructed around an ambitious, career-oriented woman, that character is observed through an unmistakable prism of antiquated patriarchal power. There is evidence that men are both empowered and weakened by the female, especially when the woman happens to be alluring. Dorgan confesses a "blind spot" that sometimes gets the best of him. Naturally that flaw is a fondness for beautiful women, whose distracting charms and tendency to be "gabby" interfere with his professional duties as a homicide investigator. Similarly, Ford admits he fell for an accused female in the past without any clue he is wandering down that identical path with Tuttle. He also suggests beauty and brains should not (or perhaps cannot) exist within the same feminine body. Even the truck driver Hunter flirts with Tuttle; no man can seem to help it. And then we have Perry, another of noir’s decidedly negative psychiatrists given his rather self-serving analysis of his “cutie” instructor.

THE ACCUSED is based on the 1947 novel BE STILL, MY LOVE by June Truesdell. The adaptation for the screen was written by Ketti Frings, an eventual Pulitzer Prize winner. For whatever reason there were uncredited contributions from six(!) contract writers (Jonathan Latimer, Barré Lyndon, Allen Rivkin, Robert Rossen, Charles Schnee, Leonard Spigelgass). This is an unusual film noir in that both the source material and its script were credited to women. It was directed by William Dieterle, who would helm additional noir productions for Paramount Pictures such as ROPE OF SAND (1949) and DARK CITY (1950), again for producer Hal B. Wallis, and THE TURNING POINT (1952) for producer Irving Asher. Cinematographer Milton R. Krasner's noir credits include many of my favorites:  THE WOMAN IN THE WINDOW (1944), SCARLET STREET (1945), THE DARK MIRROR (1946), THE SET-UP (1949), HOUSE OF STRANGERS (1949), NO WAY OUT (1950), DEADLINE - U.S.A. (1952) and VICKI (1953). There is a lot to like about the supporting cast installed around Loretta Young, especially Wendell Corey, who excels as Lieutenant Ted Dorgan. Robert Cummings also was an inspired choice as Warren Ford, Perry's legal guardian and attorney. Douglas Dick is suitably slimy as the well-documented womanizer Bill Perry, another of film noir's unstable veterans. Sam Jaffe (THE ASPHALT JUNGLE [1950]) is in his element here as Dr. Romley, and even in a small role, it is always reassuring to see Henry Travers (HIGH SIERRA [1941], SHADOW OF A DOUBT [1943], IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE [1946]). The billboard for the Macdonald Carey / Gail Russell movie "Murder" is injected cleverly, though the title referenced is fictitious.

This single-layered Blu-ray release from Kino Lorber was derived from a somewhat bespeckled print, congested with scratches and various artifacts. Contrast is average at best, but despite the less than perfect source material, the movie looks solid in motion with an appropriate level of film grain. Bottom line this is an important film noir and yet another notable addition to the Kino Lorber Studio Classics product line. Framing looks correct at 1.37:1.

The audio commentary track by film historian Eddy Von Mueller is new to this Blu-ray edition of THE ACCUSED. Von Mueller notes the film was released at a time when long-term attitudes about social norms were being challenged. THE ACCUSED is rooted firmly in the time of its creation, a time of "horrific moral decay," with a telling reference to the Black Dahlia (the gruesome, still unsolved murder of Elizabeth Short in 1947). Von Mueller recognizes brainy women historically are presented as a problem in cinema, particularly when they occupy a position of power over men. The Tuttle character challenges every man she encounters one way or another. Despite the fact her violent actions were only out of self-preservation and understandable under the circumstances, her narration reveals a split in her consciousness, a variation on the doppelgänger theme that distinguishes numerous film noirs, quite overtly in SHADOW OF A DOUBT (1943), PHANTOM LADY (1944), THE DARK MIRROR (1946), STRANGE IMPERSONATION (1946), STRANGERS ON A TRAIN (1951) and BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT (1956). Both Tuttle and Dorgan make direct reference to the theme of doubles, and the recurring mirror motif hammers down the same point.

Von Mueller's commentary is not without its memorable sound bites, as when he critiques outrageously sexist dialog, "'Your brains don't show a bit.' Jesus. This is the good guy, folks!" Another winner comes as he recalls that Mickey Knox's wife's sister Adele Morales was married to Knox's good friend Norman Mailer, who almost stabbed Morales to death. "Norman Mailer was a dick," summarizes Von Mueller. He concludes his excellent, highly professional track with an extraction from the courtroom sequence, dialog that encapsulates the very essence of film noir, "It's always a fine line between what we cause to happen and what happens to us."

A theatrical trailer collection includes a trailer for THE ACCUSED along with trailers for a host of other comparable titles available from Kino Lorber.